


Kenneth's Embrace

by ColourOuttaSpace



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Blood, Death, F/M, No proofreading, Other, We Die Like Men, malkavian - Freeform, no edits, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29911353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColourOuttaSpace/pseuds/ColourOuttaSpace
Summary: The story of Kenneth's Embrace as a member of Kindred society. This is made as a part of the #ExeterbyNight LARP group on TikTok
Kudos: 4





	Kenneth's Embrace

“Come inside, shepherd.”

Connor McCormick let the carnival fade into the far distance of his perception. The sickly sweet stench of sticky candies, the delighted giggle of distant children, of upbeat music that gave off bursts of yellow orange suns and laughing green meadows in his gaze.

All of it left when she beckoned.

Connor stood dumbfounded. Entranced. There stood a wonder of God’s world, dressed in a red robe and bright blue vest, a decorative white and black band holding her dark, waist length hair back from her face. That face. Pale as the moon, lips a deep red, and her eyes… one a dark brown, the other a sky blue.

“Well?” the querious word flowed out to him like silk. “We don’t have all night.”

Connor shook himself as the fortune teller chuckled, retreating back into her tent and letting the heavy drapes fall closed in her wake. Connor gulped. She was so diverting, so fascinating. Only in penny dreadfuls has he ever heard of the gypsies and their divinations. They were a curiosity to him. A theological mystery.

_Temptress! Murderer! Thief! Go in there and-_

"Hush,” he muttered harshly, reaching into his pocket to clutch his rosary. The constant whispers that plagued him could sometimes be silenced with such a reprimand. Usually, they merely quieted down, whispering only softly. Still, it centered him. He was in control. They were just a nuisance.

 _Death lives there,_ sang one voice.

“I said hush!” Connor gritted his teeth. He straightened his vest and checked his watch. It was still early. He’d be able to reach his dormitory before midnight. Besides, he needed more research for his thesis.

His shoes thudded on the trampled grass as he walked to the tent and lifted the curtain. Inside it was dark. Intensely so. Only a few candles with low, flickering flames carved the shape of a table, two chairs, and an amalgam of personal items from the darkness. Shadows danced across every surface with the vigour of festival dancers, but with each wink of the light it seemed those dancers grew claws. Connor could barely see anything except the light of the candles. Where was the fortune tell-

"Please," she whispered. Connor jumped, whipping his head to the left. There she was, looking up at him with those mismatched eyes sparkling like stars from the swaying candle flames. She smirked at his panicked expression. "Have a seat, shepherd. I had a feeling you'd be coming tonight."

With that, she turned and walked to the other side of the table. Connor stood in place, flabbergasted. "I'm sorry," he finally muttered, "what do you mean you had a feeling I'd be coming tonight?"

"Well, to be fair," she said, placing a hand on the chair, "I only had a feeling... my friends here told me you'd be here for certain."

"Your friends?"

"Yes!" she smiled, producing a deck of yellowed cards from the folds of her robes. "My friends here help me answer the questions the universe asks of me. They assist in making sense of it all."

With that, the fortune teller pulled her chair out and sat down, calmly riffling the cards with dexterous, slender hands. All the while, a coy smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. Connor could only stare, entranced, brows furrowed... and slowly reaching for the chair opposite hers. He sat down, uttering nothing aloud. However, his mind was working in overdrive. What the hell did she mean by all that? What could her cards really tell her? This had to be some sort of hoax, an act to sucker him out of his money. Connor's inner choir began to add their harmony to this line of thinking. _Cheat_ , they whispered. _Witch, thief_ , they hissed. He reached into his pocket and discreetly pulled out his rosary, fiddling with the crucifix underneath the table for comfort. Then, he realized something.

"You called me 'shepherd' earlier," he said. "What did you mean by that?"

The teller smirked as her hands finished one last shuffle, then she pulled out a card- the ten of clubs -and placed it on the table before them. "You carry a great burden on your shoulders," she whispered, "or you soon will. A man of the cloth and Word will have to bear the brunt of their parish's burdens, wouldn't you say?"

Connor's eyes went wide. "How did you know-"

She pulled another card out to show him without letting him finish. Her eyes, the card demanded every attention he could give. The three of clubs.

"A natural leader. One who takes charge when necessary," she said, placing the card next to the previous one. Her hand fluidly drew another. She didn't even look at it, staring deep into Kenneth's eyes.

"The Queen of Spades notes your intelligence," she said flatly. "It also notes a hint of ruthlessness."

"Ruthlessness?!" Connor sputtered. "I am a servant of God, I have no intention of-"

"No intention, shepherd?" she chuckled, letting the Queen fall next to her brethren. "Well, it may not be your intention now, but I have a feeling it will serve you well from now on. After all, every time I see you in my visions, two cards constantly come up in my readings."

With one swift motion she drew two cards, again showing them to him without looking herself. The Joker on one of the cards glowered at him with hateful beckoning, all the while partnered with the blessedly unembellished Ace of Diamonds. The fortune teller gently lowered them onto the table, setting the pair side by side above the other three. "The Ace," she said, low and slow, "represents a new profession. A new prospect. A new home... where that is, I'm not sure, but you are destined to become a major part of a city."

"Major?" Connor muttered, now clutching tightly to the rosary and staring at the cards in front of him. "I know a priest is an important part of a city's heart, but 'major' part?"

The fortune teller leaned in, resting a cheek in one hand as she used the other to point out the Joker.

"Oh, yes, child," she whispered. "I sense you have a great future ahead of you, and so do my friends. Unlimited potential, even... but, it requires a gamble."

Connor finally turned his gaze up to look in the fortune teller's eyes for an explanation... but she was gone. Disappeared. He jerked his head left and right, trying to see where she disappeared off to. "Gamble?" he asked. "I'm not a betting kind of man. What do you mean by 'gamble'?"

She whispered from behind.

"Not your gamble. Mine."

In quick succession, Connor felt the fortune teller's hands wrenching his head to the side, a stabbing pain in his neck, and then... peace. Peace, quiet ecstasy, a gentle river of pure happiness that held a boat built by the timbers of joy. He was nothing more than a passenger, gazing into a green meadow of bliss while she held the till steady as they floated down stream. Nothing could be more pleasant... surely this was what the House of God. He had come to Heaven. But as the sun of these euphoric plains began to set on the horizon, he heard them. His horrid chorus.

 _What are you doing?_ they whispered. _She's killing you! You won't survive_ _this!_

"Hush," Connor muttered drunkenly.

 _Don't hush us!_ they said louder, no longer whispering. They were becoming more emphatic. _We were right! Death comes! We screamed your doom and you didn't listen! You will die, foolish boy!_

The sun was setting, and darkness was encroaching the meadow... it wasn't as pleasant at night. In fact, it grew cold. He shivered. Looked for a blanket in the boat to cover his shoulders. Nothing a quilt couldn't handle, surely.

"Don't worry about it," he slurred out to the voices. "I'm-

 _DYING!_ they all shouted in unison. _Look behind you!_

Connor's eyebrows furrowed. They never spoke in unison. Silently as the grave, he turned back. The fortune teller was there, but instead of cheerful demeanor and kind features, her eyes glowered with hungry intent. Her back arched forward, hands made into claws, her robes now drenched. Drenched in blood. His blood. As the meadows grew darker, the only thing that was bright enough to see were those eyes. The mismatched eyes. Eyes of a murderer...

Blackness. Cold. Silence.

Flicker. A light. A single star in the void. It was all Connor could do to reach out and touch it.

The world exploded. A great cacophonous boom echoed in the crevices of Connor's mind as new life rushed into his body, his very soul tingling with a wealth of senses he never knew he had. It was everything he wanted and nothing he knew he needed to experience. Not even God could grant such a pleasure in his world. Then, he opened his eyes.

She was there, withdrawing her wrist from his mouth and staring intently into him, an expression of concern painted on her small face. She almost smiled when she saw his eyes flutter and begin to see the world again. It was slow at first, regaining consciousness... but then he felt it. The gnawing. The gnashing. The great grinding of his gut telling him to get food _now_.

 _Hungry_ cried the chorus, all in unison again. His eyes flashed. He needed food. He needed **blood**. No option. No think, just hunt. "Hungry," he echoed back. The woman's smile faded, but she nodded in understanding. She went to a corner of her tent, grabbed a hold of some tapestry, and lifted. Connor's nostrils flared wide when he smelled food, and he whipped his head in the direction of it.

The man had been bound tightly, blindfolded and gagged. He was barely conscious. For Connor... this is perfect. His canines lengthened, his hands gnarled into claws, and he snarled as he pounced on the helpless prey and sank his newly forged fangs into the victim's artery. If what had happened previously been a gentle journey down a lazy river, this was the drunken rush of endless wine pouring down one's throat. Connor's body shook as the euphoric fluid flowed down his gullet, and he smiled a wickedly tipsy grin as he drank his meal. Only after he felt the last drop go past his lips did he let go, fall back into the grass floor of the tent and collapse. The gnawing in his belly had ceased, his stomach had extended with the fine meal... all was well in the world.

Then the realization came. Connor's eyes flew open as he sat bolt upright. He looked at the man, his dusty clothes, his poorly groomed face. He saw the small bloodstains around his neck where Connor had bitten into him. Wait, what about _his_ neck? Connor brought his hand to where he had felt the woman bite him, then pulled back. Blood, only a little. Wait, where was she? What was happening? Oh God, what was happening!? He tried to get up, but his head spun from that... meal, and he felt himself falling to the ground again.

"Hold on there, shepherd," the fortune teller grunted, catching him from under the shoulder. "That's it, Childe. Let's get you sat up."

Connor let her push him back into the chair where he could gladly regain his balance. Regaining his composure, however, would be a Herculean task. The teller bent down to meet his gaze, her expression a mix of joy and concern. He stared into the woman's mismatched eyes, terrified.

"What... what happened," Connor finally stammered out. "Who... are you?"

"Well," she said, "You've just been brought into your new world, shepherd... you can call me Sophie."


End file.
